


Vintage

by lackluster_lexicon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackluster_lexicon/pseuds/lackluster_lexicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony go shopping and talk about feelings. Also, necking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vintage

**Author's Note:**

> I ended up blending the movie!verse with 'Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes" because I prefer the movie characterizations but wanted to use Janet, even if only tangentially, haha. One of these days I'll come back to this and move it solidly to one universe. Maybe. Also - this is my first Steve/Tony fic ever. As a certain genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist once said, "Be gentle. It's my first time."
> 
> Lots of fluff, little plot.

Tony turned away from the storefront window, sliding his cell phone into his pocket. He knew Pepper would read him the riot act later for blowing this off, but business could wait. He was on a kind-of date, after all, which was kind of a big deal for him, and not just because he used to be allergic to commitment. Actually, since becoming Iron Man, he hadn’t even romped with anyone except Pepper, which actually wasn’t a romp at all…but that was also doomed to fail from the beginning, so that doubly didn’t count. Thankfully, they’d both known that, and now she was happy with Happy (he snorted with genuine amusement), and he was happy – er, happyish? – with the Avengers. To whom he was totally committed, by the way.

And one in particular. And – oh, right. The date.

“Hey, Steve, sorry about that,” he said, sidling up next to the blonde man waiting for him. “Something about a merger, something something…I don’t know, Pepper will handle it, just some paper-pushing waiting for me when we get back. So –” he wrapped a hand around his companion’s bicep. Or tried to; the Steve’s-bicep-to-Tony’s-hand ratio was weighed more in Steve’s bicep’s favor – “you ready to head in?”

He smiled up at Steve only to find that he was looking over Tony’s head, watching something behind him.

“Um.” Tony turned and tried to follow Steve’s gaze down the sidewalk, but all he saw was the hobo who frequented the area.

“Didn’t have hobos in the forties?”

Steve cleared his throat but didn’t dignify Tony’s quip with an answer. Instead, he forced a smile back.

“Sorry. Yeah, um, let’s go.”

Tony opened his mouth to call Steve out on the evasion – Steve usually wasn’t one to evade, as that was more of a Tony thing – but Steve had already turned, gently pulling his arm from Tony’s hand as he entered the store.

Tony’s teeth clicked as he set his jaw. Maybe he should let Pepper handle his date plans, too. Would that be weird? Surely it wouldn’t be any weirder than starting the day by learning that Steve is afraid of hobos. Either way, this wasn’t starting off so well. As he followed Steve into the store, he wondered if this was even the best way to catch Steve up on the past five decades – or even if he should bother. Steve had never voiced a desire to play catch-up, though he had confessed to missing the thirties and what he had seen of the forties, war and all. This was all Tony’s idea. Not that he’d admit out loud that it was becoming apparent as a harebrained one.

It was actually Janet who had found the store, whose wares fell somewhere on the timeline between antique and contemporary – vintage, Jan had called it. It specialized in random crap from the sixties, seventies, and eighties, and Jan had somehow convinced Tony that it might be cute to take Steve.

Oh. So it was actually Jan’s bad idea. Cool.

Steve couldn’t have looked more out of place, though. For one, the store was crammed with shelves and racks and boxes all brimming with junk Steve had only seen on TV or in print. And Steve wasn’t a small guy; he’d had to duck just to get in the door, and now Tony was only half-amused as he watched Steve side-step his way through the store.

“Uh, Steve?”

Tony reached for Steve’s hand. He didn’t realize how anxious about Steve’s mood he was until he felt a wave of relief as Steve twined his fingers Tony’s. His knees practically buckled when Steve turned to face him, careful not to knock anything off either the shelving to his left or the counter to his right.

Wow. That was new – the knee-buckling, that is. Then again, Steve wasn’t a drunk party girl or a journalist looking for a, ahem, spread of the great Tony Stark. Steve was…well, Steve. Even Captain America and Iron Man disagreed more often than they didn’t, but Steve and Tony were different.

Good news for Tony, and he knew it.

“Steve,” Tony said again, and this time Steve’s smile was more genuine, if not still…sad. “If you want to go, we can go. This was dumb. And I was going to blame Jan, but that’s not really the responsible thing to do, and, you know, you’re having some kind of influence on me. I always feel the need to be upstanding when I’m with you. It’s awful. But we could go back to my place and get drunk, that should – ”

“Whoa, hey, Tony,” Steve said, cutting Tony’s rambling off with a laugh. “It’s not the store. This is neat, actually, though kind of cramped.” Steve laughed again, softer. “Before the, you know – ” he gestured at himself – “I would have gotten lost in here. That coat rack could have swallowed me alive.”

Tony squeezed Steve’s hand.

“I’m having a bad influence on you, too, apparently, because you are rambling so hard right now. Which, if my own tendency to ramble is any indication, means you’re evading.”

“I…yeah. But, um, you were really excited about this, and I just noticed that the store is actually larger than I thought. If it’s still bothering me, I’ll tell you when we leave, okay?”

Tony chewed his bottom lip as he considered protesting, but Steve was smiling again, and Tony had accepted quite some time ago that that smile had him whipped. Again, not that he would admit that out loud, but in this case he was pretty sure he didn’t have to.

“Come on,” Steve said, tugged Tony along as he weaved his way to the back of the store. “You’re my tour guide; start guiding.”

\---

An hour and a half later, Steve was laughing along with Tony as the man who was never seen in public outside of a suit that was either distressingly expensive or made of titanium alloy tried on shirt after ridiculous, undersized, Technicolor shirt. The store turned out to be arranged by decade, with the sixties stuff stashed in the back. And, as it turned out, the sixties were the most fun, at least retroactively – neither man had really experienced the decade the way it was meant to be experienced.

“I like that one,” Steve offered as Tony smoothed the front of a dull orange silk button-down. “Stretches in all the right places.”

Tony barked out a laugh. “People must have been smaller in the sixties. I feel like it’s going to pop open if I breathe too hard,” he said, but he made a show of flexing in the mirror. Steve watched, his head cocked to one side, and Tony watched those baby blues wonder from the reflection of his chest southward.

“Huh. I had no idea shirts could compliment asses.”

“Well, you are rowdy today,” Tony almost growled. For Steve’s sake, he tried to keep PDA to a minimum since they got caught in a Macy’s dressing room (not that Macy’s could touch either of them with a lawsuit, but still – Steve only stopped blushing long enough to be Captain America for at least a week afterwards, and he couldn’t string a coherent sentence together in front of Tony for another week after that), but he was encouraged by Steve’s forwardness, albeit tame compared to Tony’s. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his slacks and was about to strike his patented I’m-Tony-fucking-Stark-and-I-own-the-fucking-world pose, but in two steps Steve’s chest was against his back.

Steve set his chin on Tony’s shoulder, his hands splayed across Tony’s chest and stomach and his fingers playing at the button over the arc reactor. Tony leaned back into Steve, and the hold around him tightened just enough to feel safe and private. Not for the first time, Tony was struck by how powerful the man around him was, how easily his own bones could snap under the super-soldier’s strength, and how much faith he had that he would never actually have to fear for his safety in Steve’s arms. Steve was the embodiment of compassion, of restraint, of mercy – of a good man, really. Steve was a good, good man, and Tony was a damn lucky one.

“Compliments the reactor, too,” Steve murmured. He barely had to flick his fingers for the button on the overstretched shirt to come undone. Blurred by Tony’s undershirt, the reactor glowed its electric blue. A few months ago, Tony probably would have stopped him, but now he watched as Steve tapped his pointer against the middle of the reactor.

He could still whine about it, though.

“Ugh. I never thought having a battery in my chest would make me look old, but wow. Between this shirt and my Day-Glo pacemaker, I look geriatric.”

Steve laughed aloud at that, sending Tony bouncing against his stomach.

“Tony, I’m ninety-five years old. And you don’t look a day over thirty.”

“Okay, well, Steve, your age is a moot point. And you know damn well I’m pushing fifty. I only look this good because you bully me into working out and, you know, eating right and all that.”

“I bully you?”

“…no. You don’t bully. You’re the antithesis of bully.”

“Thank you.”

“But you know what I mean. Coerce.”

“Whatever you say…old-timer.”

Steve pulled him closer still, pressed his lips against Tony’s throat. Tony swallowed, caught himself smirking, and pulled a straight face just as Steve looked back into the mirror.

“You’re a bad influence, after all, I guess,” Steve said. His throat vibrated against Tony’s shoulder as his spoke.

Should that be turning him on? He might be more whipped than he’d thought.

“You bet I am,” Tony said. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Mm. Are you going to get the shirt?”

Tony’s eyebrows leapt upwards. “Are you serious? When would I ever wear this? It doesn’t even fit.”

“Doesn’t have to.”

Tony waited for Steve to elaborate on that, his arms pressed over Steve’s so he – well, Steve could pull away and leave if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t.

Finally, Steve blushed, ducking back into Tony’s neck, this time to hide.

“Uh, no,” Tony said, reaching into Steve’s hair. Instead of pulling away, Steve dug in deeper, his breath heating Tony’s neck and shoulder as he laughed in embarrassment. “You – hey! Get out here and finish that thought. You can’t do this to me. You were doing so well – with the dirty talk, I mean. Because, wow. Steve. If this dressing room had a door instead of this, uh, curtain thing – ”

Steve mumbled something into Tony’s shoulder.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

Steve lifted his head, his eyes squeezed shut so he wouldn’t see Tony in the mirror and start laughing again.

“I said, even if there were a door, you wouldn’t get me in there. I still dream about Macy’s.”

“Do you now?”

“All the way through to the rent-a-cops trying to escort us out through the fire exit.”

Tony laughed, unbuttoning the shirt before any of them could fly off. “Man, that was fun. It was like being eighteen again.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Oh, right. You were a fuddy-duddy.”

“Tony, I was five-foot-three and half your weight. I didn’t have people lining up to neck with me.”

“‘Neck’? Jesus, you’re adorable.”

“Don’t make fun of how I talk, you young whipper-snapper.”

“I – hey! You changed the subject. What’s this with the shirt not having to fit? I’m a fashion icon; if I’m going out in public, I’m looking sharp.”

Steve chanced eye contact with Tony, and he knew Tony knew what he was trying to say. Tony wasn’t half as subtle as Steve when it came to bed talk, and his smirk quickly betrayed that he knew that was exactly where this conversation was going. But Steve also knew that as much as Tony found his shyness endearing, nothing got Tony more riled up than when Steve directly acknowledged that they were, in fact, fucking. Well – Steve didn’t think of it as fucking, and he wasn’t even sure that Tony thought of it as fucking, but saying “making love” out loud would undoubtedly be even more embarrassing than “necking,” so he didn’t name it at all. But he knew it wasn’t just fucking, at least not to him.

Surely it wasn’t just fucking to Tony, either. If it were, they wouldn’t be here right now. Tony didn’t take the girls he’d fucked out shopping; he didn’t even take them out to dinner first. But Tony had taken Steve to every other restaurant in New York, even the dives; had bought, found, or ordered as many artifacts from the thirties that he could, including the replica bomber jacket Steve wore everywhere; had stayed in his bed after sex, until after the sun rose, even until after Steve came back from his morning run and shower. But Steve didn’t really have it in him to point any of this out to Tony, and he doubted Tony had it in him to explain himself, anyway. And for now, that was okay.

“Hello? Steve? You there?”

“Hmm?” Steve refocused on Tony’s face in the mirror.

“You zoned out on me. You really aren’t going to tell me what you were thinking?”

“Oh. No – I mean, yeah. I, uh, was just thinking. You know, all of your clothes are so, uh…expensive. But, um, you know – those button-downs can be a pain, and I may have, you know, wanted to…uh.”

Tony turned in Steve’s arms, which had loosened when he’d wondered off in thought, and wove his fingers into Steve’s hair, looking him directly in the eye.

“Wanted to what.”

It wasn’t a question. Steve swallowed but resisted the very, very pressing urge to shut his eyes.

“I…wantedtotearyourshirtoff.”

Tony’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Steve wasn’t sure if he was supposed to, but now he couldn’t help it – he kept talking.

“But I would feel bad doing that to your nice shirts, so I, uh, haven’t. And you know I’m still working on the whole overpowering you thing, but I know you like that, so – ”

And then Tony’s lips were over Steve’s, effectively shutting up him. The tip of Tony’s tongue darted across Steve’s bottom lip before Tony pulled away, leaving Steve flustered and dazed.

“Well,” Tony said, shucking the shirt, “in that case.” He pulled his own designer shirt back on, buttoned it halfway, threw his jacket on over that, grabbed a handful of the shirts he had tried on, and then tossed the orange one over his arm. “I’m sure I have room in my closet for these somewhere.”

\---

It wasn’t until they were back in Tony’s car and halfway back to his penthouse (not that the Avengers Mansion wasn’t nice – of course it was, it was Tony’s – but they were seriously wanting for privacy there) that he remembered to nag Steve.

“Oh, hey. I almost forgot. What was the deal with the hobo?”

Steve didn’t respond for a moment, instead keeping his gaze fixed out the window. But his hand, which rested on top of Tony’s on the gearshift, flexed as an indication to Tony that Steve had heard him. So Tony waited, chewing on his bottom lip to curb his usual silence-filling verbal vomit.

When they were almost to the penthouse, Steve sighed.

“He asked me for some change, and I gave him what I had. And I know, I know,” he said, somehow sensing that Tony was about to interject, “you told me not to talk to homeless people. And…it may or may not have been the full fifty bucks I withdrew today. But he was a veteran, Tony.”

Steve turned toward Tony, who didn’t have to look back to know that the pain on Steve’s face would break his heart. Tony kept his eyes on the road but rubbed his thumb against Steve’s so he would know he was listening.

“He had his uniform on and everything,” Steve continued. “I asked him what war he fought in, and of course it was one I’d only heard of because you’d told me about it. But the whole time we were talking, all I could think about was how the war – er, World War II – was supposed to be the war to end all wars. What else could possibly come from a war that big? How could we – the country – the world not learn from that? I mean, don’t get me wrong; I don’t regret having served my country, and I’m grateful to be serving it still. But this was another regular guy who served his country, and he ended up with medical bills he couldn’t pay and now medical conditions he can’t afford to treat. I just…I don’t understand how he could be abandoned like that. It isn’t even supposed to be happening like that.”

Tony nodded. Wow. One of their first heart-to-hearts was about Tony’s previous life as a war profiteer – a conversation that could have easily turned into a fight if Steve were pettier. Tony had put the war mongering as far behind him as he could (minus the reminder lodged in his chest), but when Steve had asked about the arc reactor, Tony had kicked into defense mode before the conversation had even called for it. Thankfully, Steve understood Tony’s defensiveness as shame and didn’t push the issue, but Tony still felt as though he were still atoning. Probably always would be. And now he had no idea what to say in response to (or defense of?) the condition of war nowadays, or even if he should say anything at all – both rare dilemmas for him. He settled for a huff of breath, transitioning from nodding to shaking his head.

“Yeah.” Steve laughed softly, looking down at their hands as Tony shifted gears. “I guess that’s really naïve, isn’t it? I mean, with that logic, the Second World War shouldn’t have happened at all after the first one.”

“Well, yes but no,” Tony blurted. Steve looked to him, clearly awaiting reassurance.

One of these days, Tony would get used to that look, that expectation. Maybe.

“I…okay. The thing about war is that it’s…well, it’s like sex. We do it even when there’s no reason to; it’s just engrained in us for some reason. But all war really is is violent diplomacy, right? So there’s, like, good war and bad war, and we just need to figure out how to make good war. Meaning peaceful diplomacy. But until then, we’re just going to keep having bad wars. Kind of like how I made weapons until I got blown up with one, then saw the light and, uh, became Iron Man. But I have to keep using weapons to…fight the good fight?”

Tony made a face at himself, then turned to look at Steve, whose lips were pursed and eyes diverted.

“Yeah, no, go ahead and laugh. That was awful.”

“A little.” But he was laughing. “I get what you’re saying, though. And I appreciate the effort.”

“Ah. Well, in that case, you’re welcome.”

With that, Tony pulled into his parking spot and led the way up to his penthouse, plastic bag brimming with horrendous vintage shirts in tow. Steve followed close behind – so close that Tony thought Steve saw something suspicious in the garage and was protecting him – until the elevator doors closed behind them, and Steve pinned Tony against the wall.

“Oh. Wow. Hi.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony didn’t bother asking for what. He knew it was for more than the pep talk in the car. He knew it was more than giving up weapons manufacturing, even, though he hadn’t even known Steve personally yet. And he definitely knew it was for more than buying the shirts. But he didn’t have the words to process what was going on between them – he just knew that it was, and it was good, and he wanted it, and he wanted Steve, and he mostly wanted Steve to be happy. And he knew that, someday, Steve could be happy without him, especially once he had to retire from superhero-ing, as all geezers must. And he was suddenly, thoroughly, viscerally thankful that Steve was here with him now, and he then knew – don’t ask him how, but he did – that that’s what Steve was thankful for, too.

“Thanks, yourself,” he returned, sliding his hands under Steve’s cotton T-shirt and up his back.

One of these days, Steve's eyebrows were going to jump off his face completely. “Aren’t there cameras in here?”

“You started it.”

“I – ”

Tony stretched up to kiss him. He kissed him even as the elevator stopped twice on the way up to his penthouse, pulling one hand out from beneath Steve’s shirt to frame his face and keep him close (he couldn't help but notice that no one ended up boarding the elevator, though). He kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until JARVIS alerted them that they were on his floor, breathed with him and moved with him as he blindly grabbed the bag and they jostled out of the elevator together, moaned with him and sighed with him as Steve lifted him so he could wrap his legs around Steve’s waist and let him carry him into the penthouse, which JARVIS was gracious enough to unlock without Tony’s prompting.

Steve didn’t bother dropping Tony on the bed; he climbed on with Tony still attached, the bag dropping to the floor as Tony released it in favor of clutching at the back of Steve’s jacket. After a moment, Steve pulled away, eliciting a not-so-small groan from Tony.

Steve laughed, deep and throaty.

“Unless you want me to tear up that nice shirt of yours, you may want to switch. I think I’m in the mood to play it your way.”


End file.
